Peel My Skin Off Dry

peel my skin off dry,
so i can air these nerves right out,
so i can hate my flesh,
so i can hate my flesh out loud.
peel my skin off dry.

so i can bleed these venoms,
steam these scorching,
demons, to the clouds,
to the mists,
so i can bleed my wrists out loud.
peel my skin off,
peel my skin off dry.

seer my fingers ends,
so i can feel much less than pain.
peel my fingertips,
so i can touch this much,
and see these drips,
when i bleed blood through bluish veins.
peel my skin off dry.

i have no voice,
it makes no noise,
when i scream out to the skies.
you don’t see flesh,
you see this skin,
and cannot paint this pain
in semiglaze,
to reflect this pain im in..
peel my skin off dry,
and pierce these eyes
with something bright,
or lighter than this demon’s sins.

im inside out,
imploded so,
much so,
that the outside has caved me in.
and in my greatest days,
i’ll be in a grave,
with my heart freed up
and over flowing cups
toasting the solving of this maze.
peel my skin off dry.

—-

I made it.

2007

Shoot The Smiling Kid

I’ll shoot the smiling kid.
Leave him to me.

I’ll gurgle his laughter,
Turn it off key.
And lock and load my weight off his shoulders -
Blast his bashful ways to get older.

Leave him to me,
I’ve got bullets to spare.

Let me provoke the joke out his throat,
Stage his new stage nerves
And force him to choke,
Shackle the chuckle and sticky his coat.

Bullshitty you’ve seen what burgundy bleeding can do.
You’re kidding, not stinging.
You’re kiddy shampoo.
I’m actual facts.
“Life Of” National Lampoon.
You’re something to laugh at,
Hardy har har.

I’ll sever his initials and plus from his heart,
Divvy his twinkling visual spark,
And scalp him.
I’ll ask him to share his grey smarts.
His father will need a new suit.

…
His mother will wet the lapel.
And he will never wear it again.
Like,
“Oh, where has it gone, your sweet grin?”

motherfucker.
…

And the hell will break
to the smell of grapes,
crushed in the mash of a months mistakes.

They’ll mourn like it was just before noon,
Until their empty is filled by a moon.

And their world no longer filled by a son,
Whose ignorance was excused as his fun.

I’ll make due making use of this gun.
Not a siren will tell me to run.

And no siren will tell me to run.

—-

I made it.

2008

The Fall

I can watch myself like mirrored walls,
Through screaming halls and buried friends,
Two searing ember ends for eyes,
That cry in an amber / autumn blend.
That ask why they grew from fallen ‘corn,
to buried spores in grounds descend.
And sprouted skyward hands from branches,
Mantis love like hatred born.
The ‘sets drop orange shadow sides
like fans of pride that slice the wind,
and men divide the years of work
to quarters for single silver things.
I layered scarves and wrapped the parcel
top with toques and know the noose.
The truth of every corner tangle
is that the angle sometimes obtuse,
Is closer once we truce.

And the point is made more sharp
When our fall becomes our start.

—-

I made it.

2009

Untitled5

we’ve bumped and bruised without soothing lumps,
been once too far to feel my jumps,
but weakened less than valentine months,
my heart has pinched from bows.

i rose and winced at pangs that pry,
not so your hands would graze my sides,
but more to show i feel these pains.
and pain for you inside.

we tripped and scraped our knees aside,
but landed so the land would sigh,
and hand us fast and last goodbyes,
seeing nothing would break our stride.

we’ve further been than we’ve stood of late,
and burned within our storied fates,
but learned that grins or a furrowed face,
can’t face what we have at stake.

—-

I made it.

2007

Rest in Peace, Michael

On the road to sanity I took the psychopath.
I’d kill for a thrill that would bring Michael back.

—-

I made it.

2010

BTKDP - Mickey

I made it.

2009

What Would Tupac Do?

I made it.

2011

The Artorialist - Melbourne.

I made it.

2010

Treasure Chest

The gem means more when it’s under dirt.
Like slumber shirt hems and numbers worth, its long..
as distances ran in tracks.
Or lands I ran, and the plans I rack.
Whose nack is gold in a wooden chest?
Ask out to scouts who should invest…
(like undercoats for a tux’s shell).
I’m consumed in vacuums, it sucks as well.
The diamond shape dons Super’s shirt.
The mind escapes, it’s too superb..
too obscure, too without a fix,
too without a cure, and breaks bones with sticks.
And names will never hurt me, slut.
I’ve made an ass of if’s and butts.
I’m a smoke burned down to its final ash,
a toke, some coke short of throttled trash.
Greened with envy like my bottled glass.
I’m a thoughtful ride, with a modeled crash.
I’m a hot design printed on a shirt,
displayed on pages and gone berzerk.
Raved on, green,
supreme with cash.
Leaned on mean til the till collapsed.
The laughter came when the joke revealed.
She poked my page and provoked the shield.
I spoke once, saying that I’d never cheat,
but I will move closer for a better seat.
A pill through potion and a pint for cheap.
A mind like Mogli, resign the chief.
If life is golden, I entrust my wrist
to a life long promise that I must exist.
I’ll commit and admit I’m in touch with this,
until the rich ask Discovery to bust the myth.
I’m dummy, I’m rummy, I’m crutched and hurt.
I’m Johnny, no Cash hurt, and what’s absurd..
the earliest bird’s said to gain the catch.
But the earliest worm gets maimed too fast.
A murder for necessity’s no heinous act.
Electric simplicity, its Raiden’s craft.
I’m grave, lost marbles, I’m chipped in stone,
and think peace with each punch that my fists condone.
I sacrifice words that my lips have sewn,
for the fabric of a life, I have risked the poem.
I have slipped, hurt hip joints, and missed the mark.
I have lists, short bullet points, a quest will Start…
(like the button just right of the NES Select).
Control every call. Change. Accept. Collect.
Buried in a bushel, 30 years of earth…
is a chest with a treasure that appears of worth…
to a world I predict that your heart forgot,
filled with gold, but your ex, hadn’t marked the spot.
And your next is obliged to unleash the catch.
From the deep, please release the latch.
At last.

—-

I made it.

2010

2008. I made it.

For the record.